A/N: This next piece is done for a challenge on the CxA forums- use Hamlet's letter to Ophelia, from Hamlet, for CxA. Italics are the letter parts. I hope you will enjoy!
Disclaimer: Owns nothing
Never Doubt I Love
"To the celestial and my soul's idol, the most
beautified Ophelia,"—
That's an ill phrase, a vile phrase; "beautified" is
a vile phrase: but you shall hear.
He had never been the sort to wax poetic. Never had he bothered to use flowery descriptions, or delicate words, even in his head. But with her. . . maybe it was true that with the right inspiration any man could become a poet.
Her skin wasn't simply white. It was peaches and cream, softer and more delicate than anything he had ever touched, and he feared that if he wasn't careful he would bruise her. Yet at the same time he wondered how her hands could still be so soft with all the work she did in her small flower patch.
The silken hair that tumbled past her waist when unbound could not be called brown; it was a rich deep chocolate color, glowing with golden highlights in the bright sunshine. Nor were her eyes mere green. They were wide deep pools of liquid emerald light, almost as if the Lifestream itself shimmered there.
But even more than her outer beauty, it was the breathtaking radiance of her soul that drew him to her. She was sweet, cheerful, and kind, generous almost to a fault. With a mere touch, a phrase, or even the flash of a smile she could make his day worlds better. Oh, not that she was perfect- she could be as socially awkward as he, annoyingly cheerful at the most inappropriate times, and she couldn't cook very well yet, though Tifa was trying her best to teach her. But it only made her all the more desirable, all the more beautified because she wasn't perfect.
Whenever he found of himself thinking of her this way he almost couldn't believe he was using such words. Cloud Strife, ruthless mercenary, cold, aloof, and anti-social did not speak that way. But there was no other way to describe her, no words worthy enough to be used in comparison.
Not that he would ever dare speak such things to her. He could barely manage to look at her without feeling like an awkward teenager let alone tell her what he thought of her, how much he admired and cared for her.(Loved her.) The words simply stayed locked in his heart. He thought perhaps it would be easier if he wrote her a letter, but each draft ended scrunched up in frustration and chucked into the nearest fire.
Doubt thou the stars are fire;
Doubt that the sun doth move;
Doubt truth to be a liar;
But never doubt I love.
Yet still he tried. He knew her world was full of so many uncertainties and fears at the moment as her entire reality warped and changed around her, but he wanted so badly for there to be one thing she could be certain of, one thing she would never ever doubt: his feelings for her.
Even if he couldn't speak the words to convey his feelings, he tried to show it in the way he looked out for her, in his actions, in the glances and smiles they shared. Holding her hand to help her off of a chocobo. Promising her an airship ride. Protecting her as her bodyguard. Offering her a sympathetic ear when she expressed her unease to him. This was how he showed he cared. This was how Cloud showed he loved.
Was it enough though? It worried him that perhaps his feelings weren't being conveyed in the way he wanted them to be, if perhaps she did not understand what it was he wanted so desperately to say to her.
And so, alone in the bar of one of the hotels they were staying at one night, with a glass at his elbow and a stack of paper at his side, he worked over a letter, writing draft after draft, determined to get it right. Lines were crossed out, words changed, until the paper was a mass of illegible scribbles that only he could read. It wasn't until the early gray light of morning that the final draft was finished, written as neatly as he could manage with his heavy scrawl.
When the gang left the hotel that morning he was irritable and grouchy from lack of sleep, though tucked safely in his pack was a cream colored envelope with a single word penned against the outside: Aerith.
He didn't know if he would ever give it to her. Really, he didn't know if he even dared. But the important thing was that the letter was there, in case he ever needed it, ready and waiting to be given to her.
I have not art to reckon my groans: but that
I love thee best, O most best, believe it. Adieu.
Thine evermore most dear lady,
whilst this machine is to him, Hamlet.
Aerith knelt, going through the packs for the dirty laundry her companions hadn't had time to wash yet. The men in particular where bad about it- Cid was happy to wear the same grease stained clothes for a week, and Barret shared similar sentiments.
She smiled, her lips curling as she reached for Cloud's bag. Even the spiky blond wasn't immune to the reluctance to do laundry. So while Yuffie and Tifa distracted them, Aerith raided their bags to get the filthy clothes and wash them before the men could complain.
Her pale hands plunged into the depths of the blond's bag, coming up with several shirts and a pair of pants, in addition to several socks. She wrinkled her nose, resisting the urge to giggle and shake her head when a thick piece of paper caught her eye in the pile of clothing. Plucking it from the clothes, she noticed that it was an envelope, but more importantly, it had her name written on it.
Staring down at the letter in her hands she slowly worked her finger under the flap before hesitating, blinking as she wavered, wondering whether or not she should read it. Slowly she looked up towards the distance, hearing the shouts and laughter from her friends. Smiling, Aerith sighed softly, holding the envelope against her chest as she made her decision.
Her eyes, those beautiful luminescence emerald orbs, would never open again. She would never laugh again, never smile at him again, never wrap her arms around him in gentle comfort. She was gone, gone, gone, and he would never know. . . she would never know. . .
Cloud's face twisted and his jaw ached from holding back the anguished cry that tried desperately to claw it's way out of his throat, bowing his head to hide his tear blurred eyes even as he clutched her still warm body closer to his body as the icy water lapped around his legs.
Aerith would never know how much she meant to him. And now it was too late. She never would, never. Exhaling shakily, he slipped a rectangular piece of cream colored paper beneath her folded hands, bending his head to brush a kiss against her silken cheek as the moisture slipped free.
"I loved you best," he whispered only to her, before letting her go at last, stepping back slowly as she slipped down into the watery depths, her long hair fanning out in a beautiful chocolate halo around her, his letter fluttering down with her. Still she smiled. That heartbreakingly sweet smile that he would never be able to forget.
The clear cold water embraced her delicate frame as she sank deeper and deeper into the depths, her flesh porcelain pale, hair drifting around her rose clothed frame like river plants. Her still body came to rest on the bottom, cradled by water plants, protected from the swirling currents.
&
Drifting down after her, the envelope came to rest on her breast, the ink forming her name blurring in the water, flap fluttering in the soft sway of the water.
Aerith's smile remained.
The seal was broken.